Are you Tommy Pickles?
by IlovesmonkeysIdo
Summary: Parody of the book "Are you Dave Gorman?" It's a true story that will have you rolling in tears of laughter!
1. Prologue

**Hello. My name's Tommy Pickles Throughout this story, I'll be writing in this bold, rather confident typeface.**  
  
Hello. My name's Chuckie Finster. And I'll be writing in this relaxed, more elegant font.  
Now Chuckie Finster isn't really a name you're going to see all that much in this story, I'd go back and read it again.  
  
**A little whle ago, Chuckie and I...  
**  
That's me.  
  
**...set off on a journey that should never really have happened. It was something that would take us tens of thousands of miles around the world, meeting dozens of strangers, all of whom have one vital thing in common.  
But I'm sure you'll work out what that is as you read on...**  
  
The most worrying thing about the story you are about to read is that it is true. Entirely, painfully true.  
Read the story. Pity us. And then prey that it never happens to you.  
  
**Or, follow in our footsteps and do it yourself.**  
  
No, don't do that.  
  
**Thank you**

* * *

_This is a parody of the brilliant book "Are you Dave Gorman?". The story of a journey around the world that involves many of his name sakes.  
  
I thought it would be fun for those who are not firmilliar with Dave to found out about him.  
  
_**Oh and I own nothing!!!**


	2. Harrow Boys Part 1

* * *

If I'm to be regarded as an authority on anything - and I hope that day I am - I guess it would be fastmates. I've had my fair share, and probably yours, too.  
Ranging from the freakish to the unutterably dull, more people have bought me a pint of milk then they have a pint of larger, and that's the way I like it.  
There was Tony the Greek, for example; a man whose nickname stemmed not from a shady gangster background but from the fact that his name was Tony and he came from Greece. I'm quite proud of the fact that it was me who came up with the name. Before then, he's just been Tony, which, to be honest, made him sound a bit common.  
Tony would buy fishburgers from the fish and chip shop down the street and fill every spare shelf in the fridge with them. He was a fan of what I believe polite society might term 'comical cigarettes' and would often emerge from his room surrounded by a haze of smoke and an exotic smell, take a fish burger from the fridge, and then head back into his where he would sleep for most of the day and night. When occasionally he would leave the flat, he'd only go as far as Tesco, where he would prove their perfect customer and fall for each and every multibuy deal they had going. We might be two boys sharing a flat, but as far as Tony the Greek was concerned, as long as we were saving a fiver in the process, you could never have enough tampons.  
I didn't stay in that flat for long.  
I have lived in a house full of Norwegians and a man called Janush who would often be mistaken for George from Seinfeld. I have shared a flat with eight musicians, with two fashion designers, with a bouncer called Big Al, and, variously, three dogs, a stout and six fish.  
Now let's not draw any conclusions from this. Let's not start thinking that I must have some kind of anti-social tendencies that might cause flat mates to drop their belongings and flee the minute they walk in the door. I don't look like a serial killer, a born again Christian, or a childrens entertainer. My hygiene is second-to-none. The stoat didn't belong to me. And when it's my turn to buy the milk. I treat my responsibility with all the gravitas it deserves.  
But it was when I was living in a converted hotel in Harrow-the-Hill with a Finnish musician called Jaakko and a Polish 'visual poet' called Marcin that I found true flat mate happiness Jaakko was a kind and gentle Finn, who'd make proper coffee in the mornings. Marcin was wise - almost mystical - and statements of astounding profundity would often fall from his lips. 'I have noticed,' he once said, 'that items made from stainless steel have "stainless steel" written on them...I wonder if it would not be sensible to extend this practice to other materials also, for the sake of clarity.  
The day Marcin revealed that he was being kicked out of the country just because he was living here illegally, we were drinking Jaakko's proper coffee in the kitchen as usual. Of course the fact that Marcin couldn't afford his ticket home, had nowhere to store his stuff and had to say goodbye to his pretty new girlfriend wasn't great news, but the fact Jaakko and I now had to find a new flatmate really was the straw that broke the camels back.  
For a while we did nothing. We tried to ride it out. But now that there were only two of us, it seemed like every other night it was my turn to do the dishes.  
Jaakko felt the same. And so one night, after taking the last of Marcin's stuff to the landfill, it was decided.  
We would take out an ad for a new flatmate.  
  
**If there's one thing I knew about myself it was that I didn't want to live with other people. I lived alone in a one bedroom flat, overlooking the canal basin in the centre of Manchester and I loved it all the way.  
I had spent most of my life sharing with other people. For the first ten years of my life I had shared a room with my brother, Dil. For nine months before that we had shared a womb - he's my twin brother. Since leaving home I had lived with first seven people, then five people, then four people, then three people, then two people, then one person, then one-peson-I-was-sleeping-with who turned out to be one-person-I-wasn't-the-only-person-sleeping-with and so, finally, I lived alone. And I was convinced that each of these arrangements had been better than the last. (although, obviously, I missed the sex)  
It's not that I don't like other people. It's just that with fewer people there's less compromise. And with no people there is none. I was happy this way: just me, my music, my choice of TV channel, my furniture and my sleep pattern.  
Living alone means never having to say you're sorry. Living alone means never having to say you're sorry. Living alone means you can use the toilet without shutting the door. If that isn't the very definition of personal freedom, I don't know what is. And when I look back at the flat, that flat so full of good memories, I am unable to tell you whether or not the bathroom even had a door.  
The only problem with living alone was having a mortgage. Apparently, there's something in a small print that means you have to pay all that money back! Crazy, isn't it? So, the mortgage needed paying, which meant that I needed paying, which in turn meant I would have to involve myself in the grubby world of work.  
There was an offer and it left me on the horns of a dilemma. A TV company had asked me if I might like to work for them. The contract would last for nearly four months, the wage would more than adequately cover my mortgage, but - and here comes the particularly tricky horn - the job was in London.  
Manchester had been home for ten years, I lived alone in a flat that I adored but in order to pay for it I would have to spend four months not living there. Worse...the cost of living in London and paying the mortgage in Manchester meant i would, gulp, live with other people.  
With a heavy heart I bought a copy of Loot and started making my way through the small ads.  
**  
I was looking for a payphone in Budapest Central Station. Yes, I know it's a little early in the story to suddenly confuse you with tales of Eastern Europe, but it's the truth, that's where I was, and it seems a little silly to lie to you and tell you I was in Bournemouth when Budapest is far more glamorous and makes you feel your reading this story has already been a little worthwhile.  
Anyway, it was midnight, it was freezing, it was Hungary, and my only concern was whether or not Jaakko had managed to find us someone new to live with. I dreaded not being in on the big decision. Jaakko had wanted to wait until I got back from Hungary, but I was insistent; I trusted him to find the right person for the apartment. And anyway, I was going to be late for my plane and I hadn't changed any money yet. A few people were coming round to look at the flat that night, but I was sure, as is the way, that none of them would be suitable candidates for our very metropolitan way of life.  
I'd been asked to go to Hungary to write an article for a magazine, but it was a last minute thing and they needed me to go out there as soon as possible. Before I left for the airport, I'd tutored Jaakko on what to look out in a potential roommate. I gave him a few pointers, a few questions he might like to throw in. I warned him of women who look like they might just have split up with their boyfriends and would simply love two male roommates to spend twelve hours a day pouring her heart out to, and then the other twelve hours screaming at for all the Bad Things Men Do. I warned him of men who look like they might be about to bring an unnecesarry amount of computer equipment to the apartment and then never leave their room. And I warned him about the people who look like they might very well take an active interest in live folk music and all that that entails (I have, over the years, come to realise that there is nothing more terrifying than discovering your new roomate has brought an acoustic guitar and some bongos with them)  
On the plane to Budapest, though, I began to have my doubts. It's a big thing, deciding on who should move into your apartment with you. A lot of issues come into play. I couldn't put my finger on any of them, but I knew they existed, and that was enough to fluster me. I now dreaded coming back from Hungary and meeting whoever Jaakko had decide should move into the flat. I became convinced that he would almost have taken leave of his senses, or panicked because he couldn't answer a potential roommates question about the water rates. Or perhaps he would buckle under the pressure and simply offer the room to the first bucktoothed simpleton with a set of bongos to walk through our door.  
I couldn't stand it. I needed to be in on the decision. I asked a man in a hat where the nearest payphone was.  
'Where are you coming from?' he asked 'London', I said, and regretted it instantly. The man asked me whether I knew that in 1953, Hungary beat England at Wembley 6-3 in soccer. I did know that, although I neglected to mention that it was only because I had been told exactly that three times already since our plane landed, each time by an eager Hungarian stranger. The man smiled at me. I smiled back. I asked him again if he knew where the nearest payphone was, and he said yes, and pointed at the most obvious-looking payphone I had ever seen, surrounded by fluorecebt yellow arrows and big signs saying Telefon (which I have since discovered is the Hungarian word for 'telephone)  
I used it to wake Jaakko up.  
'Hi Jaakko'  
'Hey Chuckie'  
'Listen, I think we should both be in on the roommate decision, so that we get someone we're both happy with'  
'Yeah, absolutely'  
'Cool'  
'But a man called Tommy is moving in this weekend. He's coming down from Manchester with his things on Friday'  
I weighed the situation up, deciding how much anger and annoyance to show.  
'Okay then'  
  
**I'd had a list of fifteen places to look at and two days in which to do it. Number 44a was the first place I checked. It was in the heart of Harrow, which seemed an awfully long way out of town - but it was only a five-minute walk to the tube and, from there, a twenty-minute journey to central London. The house had been fairly grand in its day - although that was clearly some time ago. Since then it had been converted first into a hotel, then into two flats, with 44a being the first and second floors. The man who showed me round was called Jaakko (pronounced Yah-co). He was Finnish.  
'I'm Jaakko', he said with a broad grin and a faint accent, 'I am from Finland'  
We shook hands.  
'I'll show you the spare room. It was Marcin's room. He is from Poland. He's a very interesting guy - he is a visual poet'  
'A visual poet? What does that mean'  
'I have absolutely no idea. But he's a very interesting guy'  
'So, was it just the two of you'  
'No...there is Danny also. I'm sorry he's not here. he's in Budapest'  
'It all sounds very international. Where's he from'  
'Bath'  
'Oh'  
Jaakko seemed like a laid-back enough guy.  
'Do you have any house rules?' I asked 'No' he said 'It is very much a house of convienience. Especially convenience foods'  
At the end of the tour, I made a rash decision. I decided to take the room. There were two thought processes at work here. First, I figured that a flat full of globetrotters would be as close to living alone as I could get. You can't trot the globe and be in the living room arguing over the remote control at the same time. Second, I was meant to visit fourteen more properties before the next day was done and I just couldn't be assed! Jaakko and I shook hands once more and the deal was done.  
On Monday I would move in.  
**  
On Tuesday I returned from my Eastern European jaunt with a working knowledge of Hungarian, a few facts about the country to pepper around my article (apparently, in 1953, Hungary beat England 6-3 at Wembley), and a furry white hat which I planned to give to Jaakko to make up for the fact that I hadn't done any hoovering since two Christmas's ago.  
The fact that Jaakko had already done the deal and decided who was moving in to 44a had taken a weight off my mind. There was now nothing I could do about it. If this Tommy guy turned out to be a semi-professional wrestler who just loved to involve his friends in practising his new moves, I'd just have to grin and bear the inevitable headlocks.  
But when I arrived at the tube station I began the five-minute walk to the house with my head low and my bags heavy. I started to feel slightly awkward about walking into my own home. Presumably this 'Tommy' would now be there. He would already have unpacked his wrestling gear and found a quiet corner for his many bongos.  
Jaakko would have shown him how to operate the needlessly complicated shower. He would have shown him which button on the needlessly complicated remote turns on the video without turning off the stereo at the same time. He would have demonstrated how to use the various kitchen appliances - each of them needlessly complicated, and each usually shunned in favour of the microwave. Which would actually have taken some explaining before use, being one of the few things in our house that was deceptively simple.  
Tommy would probably have been hungary after moving his stuff into the flat - as semi-professional-wrestlers-cum-folk-musicians often are - which meant that he would have probably done his first shop. He'd have a choice between the Tesco down the road or the Spar two minutes away. He'd then have to choose which of our spare shelves was to be his.  
I turned my key quietly as quietly as I could and walked into the house. I looked around the hallway. Nothing too different. He'd clearly not had time to make his mark yet, but I bet he had plans. Oh yes. I bet he had all kinds of plans for that hallway. He probably already wanted me and Jaakko out, based on those hallway plans of his alone.  
I walked into the kitchen. I was right about the shopping. Tommy had chosen to go to the Spar two minutes away. The cheap bastard. He'd also decided on the shelves right opposite the kitchen door...no, not the ones your thinking of, not the ones in the cupboard, but the ones out in the open and in full of any visiting dignitaries! The sheer arrogance! His tastes, it seemed, were for canned goods - beans, tuna chuncks and soup with bits in. Not the fresh fruit, fresh vegetables and garden herbs Jaakko and I often talked about buying but never did - oh, no. Convenience foods! How would this man fit in?  
An inspection of the fridge revealed that Tommy had bought a new, two-litre bottle semi-skimmed milk, presumably to try and win his new roommates over. This desperate attempt to curry favour was too much for me, and I became instantly convinced that Jaakko had made the gravest of herrors. How could he not have seen that this cheap, arrogant and lazy new roommate of ours was in no way the kind of man that I would willingly know?  
And then Tommy walked into the kitchen.  
And I realised that I already did.

* * *

_Here is the first chapter, if you haven't already got it. This story is based in the UK, but their will be travelling., and mainly to USA. I know Tommy and Dil arn't twins, And I also know that Chuckie doesnt come from Bath, but I'm changing a few things so no flames please. (I also realise it would have been easier to use Phil as the main character as he has a twin, but hey it's my story!)_

Anyway hope your enjoying please R/R


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